


I Built My Walls High (To Watch You Knock Them Down)

by theassassinpenguin (hawkeblocke)



Series: (Parentheses) [4]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: And titles, F/M, I'm bad at tags, Oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkeblocke/pseuds/theassassinpenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It took her remaining composure to look him in the eye when all she could think of was the weeping stone wall pressing hard against her back, his eyes an emerald fire boring into her and his fingers wrapped tightly around her throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Built My Walls High (To Watch You Knock Them Down)

**Author's Note:**

> oof. this has been in the making for quite some time. all and all this took around three/four months to complete.
> 
> Just a quick note.
> 
> This oneshot covers quite a bit of time and for a good portion of that time Caine isn't actually in the thieve's guild. so to put this in a timeline, about the first half of the fic is 'dated' before her encounter with the Companions, and the last of it happens after.

Brynjolf grabbed her wrist to stop her when she turned to leave the treasury. Caine pulled her hand away like a frightened animal and whirled around to face the redhead when she wanted to flee and never look back. It took her remaining composure to look him in the eye when all she could think of was the weeping stone wall pressing hard against her back, his eyes an emerald fire boring into her and his fingers wrapped tightly around her throat.

When it was clear he wasn't going to say anything, Caine turned and left, trying to ignore the apology that never made it any further than his eyes. She talked to Delvin and Vex and turned in her contracts she'd taken before this whole ordeal began, grateful for their normalcy, though Delvin couldn't help the few meaningful glances he passed her way. _I'm sorry_ , they said, _he's been through a lot_. By then her tears had begun to brim her eyes and rather than crumbling for the whole Flagon to see, she brushed past Karliah and found her bed where she wept quietly into her pillow.

Rune woke her a few hours later, startling her out of a nightmare that sat at the back of her mind, like she was supposed to remember it but couldn't quite get that far. "Brynjolf has something for you," and just like that her nightmare was brought back to the surface. Death's cold fingers cutting her off, green eyes and auburn hair blurring into one image.

"Thank you, Rune." She wondered if there would be bruises by now.

Caine found him leaning over Mercer's desk. When he looked up at her she imagined green flame, hot and cold as stone all at once and her fingers touched her neck on their own accord. _"I don't know what's more surprising, being told you were killed a traitor, or seeing you come back alive,"_

_"Bryn, please!"_

"Lass, you alright?" Caine's hand flew to her side and her vision came into focus. Brynjolf stood up with his arms crossed over his chest. Business. All business.

"Yes, I'm fine." She lied.

"As I was saying, this is the last place I would want to send you, but we need to find out what Mercer was up to before he turned tail." It was as if there was a completely different man in front of her, from the one that held her life in his hands, the man seeking reconciliation, to this distant, professional thief. As if the few hours she'd spent asleep had erased everything that had happened the last few days. But then his eyes darted to her neck and she knew. It hadn't been a dream for either of them.

Caine nodded at him quickly and put an end to the words on his tongue by walking away.

Getting the information was easy enough once she got tips from Vex, and she slipped out with plenty of coin and valuables in her pocket.

She took the Ratways down to the Cistern, hoping that once she reached the Flagon she would be the new blood again, young, blossoming into her skills, fresh from a botched job. But when she stepped through the door it was clear that there was no going back. With a heavy sigh she went to meet Brynjolf where she left him.

There, she was served the complimentary 'good work, lass,' and learned of the heist of all heists, theirs and Mercer's next mark. In a way she was thankful for his avoidance of his misdoings. It was easier to get lost and think this was just business. That he never had her up against a wall, ready to choke the life out of her.

They made their way to the center of the cistern where Karliah was waiting for them.

"…He needs to die."

"We have to be very careful; Brynjolf… is a Nightingale,"

_"I'll make sure to send your regards to Brynjolf…"_

_"I don't know what's more surprising…"_ "Caine, you with us, lass?" She blinked, her mind cleared, Karliah and Brynjolf were looking at her, concern evident on their faces.

"Yes, of course."

"We need to prepare ourselves and meet Mercer on equal footing." Karliah continued slowly. "Just outside of Riften, beyond the Southeast Gate is a small path cut up the mountainside. At the end of that path is a clearing and an old standing stone. I'd ask you both to meet me there." She looked both of them in the eye with equal measure, but Caine could do little more than nod. She heard Brynjolf say something about how he had some preparations to make before he set off and Caine steered clear of him and stepped into the Flagon. She found Tonilia where she usually was and after bartering off whatever she found in Mercer's house she walked away a few septims richer and her pack a little lighter. Caine sat at the bar and sipped down a bottle of Black-Briar mead before she decided to head off.

By then both Brynjolf and Karliah had made it and they were waiting for her to arrive. They entered Nightingale Hall and with no small amount of trepidation she donned the armor.

The sight of the emerald glint swallowed almost completely by the darkness of mask and hood as Brynjolf looked at her sent shivers down her spine that were not entirely unpleasant, but certainly not pleasant. Caine chose to ignore that gaze in place of following Karliah into a chamber that told her everything she needed to know. They were to become Nightingales.

And they did.

The agreement was simple and painless. Caine was almost disappointed by the lack of sacrifice. But the glowing mass of purple asked no more than their protection and service. When the deal was struck they convened at the center where Karliah told them of Mercer's 'true crime', and though Bryn remained silent she and Karliah both agreed that the key should be retrieved and returned.

"Then we should get moving right away." Caine decided.

"Wait, there's just one thing left to discuss; the leadership of the Guild." Bryn stepped in and Caine was forced to pause.

"What do you mean?" Mercer wasn't even dead yet. Ousted as he was, it seemed wrong for someone to step in when he had filled the spot for as long as most anyone remembered. "Can't this wait until we've put an end to Frey?"

"Just hear me out, lass. While we were waiting, Karliah and I talked about it and we believe you have the potential to get the Guild back on it's feet again."

"You want me to lead the Guild? I… I don't know what to say."

"How about you just say 'I accept', lass?"

Caine paused, stopping the words from coming out of her mouth. Could she really accept such a position? Was she even capable of leadership? She considered asking Brynjolf to take control, but she was sure they had already relayed her responses. Or Bryn would spin some tale about how he just wasn't made for the job. "Very well. I accept."

Karliah's voice smiled. "Then we have work to do."

Once again Bryn's hand on her wrist stopped her from following the Dunmer thief, though this time where his fingers had once wrapped lightly around it, now they tapped her joint enough for her to get the message. "Wait a minute, lass… about what happened…"

"Bryn…"

He spoke over her desperately, cutting her off. "Words can't express how sorry I am-"

"Do you expect me to believe it has eaten you up inside since Delvin had to pull you off of me? I get it, Brynjolf. You were dealing with a traitor and you felt betrayed. But if you really want a reason to feel sorry, know this: everything I did, from Goldenglow Estate to the Meadery and following Mercer, even dealing with Karliah when I may as well as been exiled, _everything_ was for the Guild. You were the only family I had in Skyrim, Bryn. I thought I could trust you…" her voice broke, her vision blurred and suddenly waves of emotion came crashing down on her that she hadn't realized she'd been keeping at bay. Bryn's chest came into view and his arms incased her. "I thought you were going to kill me."

Brynjolf smoothed her hood at the back, soothing her as she cried into the leather of his new armor. "I would never do that, lass," it was a good lie, and one she wanted to believe.

She thought ending Mercer's life and returning the Skeleton Key to the Twilight Sepulcher would provide her some closure. But doing none of those things gave her what she sought. Receiving Nocturnal's gift was a pleasant surprise, and one she graciously accepted as a Nightingale.

In the months following they worked vigorously to rebuild the Guild's treasury, the whole guild taking extra contracts to help. Though she was often gone, Caine always slipped in a prayer to Nocturnal before each heist or pocket she picked. She knelt before the statue in the Cistern every day she was there, and when she wanted to escape she retreated to Karliah's wisdom in Nightingale Hall.

On this day she found the hall empty, but it mattered little. This was where she felt Nocturnal's presence the strongest, aside from the Twilight Sepulcher.

"You've taken to that armor like a second skin." Caine looked over her shoulder from where she knelt at a shrine she had made to Nocturnal. She shouldn't have been as surprised as she was when she didn't hear Brynjolf enter. He was a skilled thief, after all.

"How did you know I was here?" She had made it a point to keep her presence here a secret.

"You've become very religious these past months, ever since you returned the Key. Hard not to know, lass." He spoke fondly, as if it amused him.

"Why are you here?" She stood and dusted her knees. Bryn's eyes followed her every move like she would run off at any moment. Though she wouldn't admit it, these last months working with Bryn had allowed her to slowly build her trust in him again. She still had nightmares, but they were few and far between. "Am I needed?"

"No, not by the Guild. Everything's smooth and clear as water. I came for you." Caine quirked an eyebrow at him.

"This coming from the man who has important things to do?" Still she smiled and stepped a little closer. Bryn smirked, relief evident in his demeanor. There was little telling what kind of mood she was in with him on a given day. Some days she behaved like a frightened rabbit, while others it was easy to forget that he had ever broken her trust. Today, it seemed she was feeling playful.

"It always gets you frustrated, acting like I don't have the time of day…" he closed the distance between them and suddenly his breath was on her ear, sending shivers across her skin. "You look so gods-damned hot when you're angry." She felt the corner of his lip raise in a smile against her neck. "I'd say there's only one thing more attractive than an angry Nightingale."

She tried to keep her voice steady as she spoke, but as she tipped her head back to look at his face and see the smug smirk that graced his lips she knew she would fail. But still she tried with a smirk of her own and a level of disinterest. "Care to enlighten me?"

"Now lass, some things are best left to demonstration, and fortunately for you I am happy to oblige." It was one of the few times he'd seen the Bosmer without her hood these days, he almost forgot how much he missed seeing her face, and even rarer still, without the green war paint that usually adorned her copper skin. Brynjolf closed the distance between their mouths in a tentative and, perhaps too overly cautious kiss. Her lips were soft and pliant at first before she returned the favor, and he released his remaining tension in a relief filled breath, their kisses steadily building in intensity until they were forced to part for air. The pupils that centered her red eyes had widened immensely, but still there was enough doubt in them to stop any further advance. Wherever this was going, it wasn't getting there this day.

Caine felt her brow crease and she fought the urge to cry. The mistrust that decided to rear its ugly head and fester inside her heart could not have picked a more inconvenient time. But his hands on her, the feeling of his presence so intimately close to her own had resurfaced the memories that they both tried so hard to forget these past months. She fought the image of rage filled gems and focused instead on the guilty disappointment she saw there. She looked down, unable to bare the weight of it, knowing she was the cause. "Bryn… I'm sorry," I tried…

"No, lass, don't apologize." The distance between their bodies widened as he stepped back. She watched as he paced a little, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck, head down. It was a tough blow, one that she did not intend to deal, but one that he took surprisingly well considering how hot-blooded she had seen him get. Bryn paced a few more times before she assumed he regained his composure. "You're a competent leader when you're here, lass. We don't see much of you." And just like that the subject changed, the ease of his tone suggesting that it was a conversation they'd been discussing, rather than a statement he'd brought up out of the blue. She knew it was a ruse, he was providing her with a way to escape, and for that she was grateful.

"Well, hate to break it to you, Bryn, but you're not the only one who's busy 'round here. I've been trying to keep the Brotherhood above water, not to mention the rowdy crowd in Whiterun." The Companions were warriors, and not used to sitting around waiting for contracts. They got loud and impatient. As for the assassins… it was hard enough to rebuild one failing guild, but add another one and what little tricks she could apply from helping the Thieves get back on their feet were few and far between. Despite the two factions' similarities they could be no differently run. "And then there's this business with the dragons… everyone seems to believe that I am the Dragonborn for gods' sakes." She was always fond of the Riften Thieves’ Guild and whether she wanted to admit to Brynjolf or not, Caine needed a place to collect herself and go back to much simpler times. She found that here.

"The bloody Dragonborn, eh?" He hid his shock well, but not well enough. Reading people was one of the first things she learned from him, and over the course of a year she became an expert on reading Bryn in particular. There were few things she couldn't pick up on. "You're an important woman." But not too important to drop Riften's little band of misfits.

It wasn't said, but she could see it in the spark in his eyes, the way he smiled like a boy who wanted for nothing. Caine felt herself smile back. A small one, because she knew what she said next would go over about as well as a boat over stormy seas. "I need you take over the Guild, Bryn." Sure enough, the smile died.

"Didn't I just say you're a right fine boss, Lass? Besides, I'm not fit to run the Guild—"

"You are, you just don't want to. I've paid attention, I know who really ran things when Mercer was still alive. I wasn't blind to it." Caine watched his brow crease slightly and the corners of his mouth turn down in a frown. Gods curse her for wanting to kiss it off. "And before you turn it down just hear me out. I don't ask this lightly, and know that I thought about this, I've asked guidance from Nocturnal, consulted Karliah about this very thing and trust me when I say that I love the Guild like it were my family," you are my family, all of you, "I don't feel comfortable leaving my family to anyone else."

"I'm beginning to see a pattern; do you always run out on the ones that you love?" Bryn said, for a moment she didn't know if she saw spite or hurt in his eyes.

Caine swallowed, decided she wouldn't dwell on it and chose instead to sit at one of the tables Karliah had moved in. "It's different. Do not ever think you can use my past against me, especially considering how little you truly know.” She chose her words carefully, her voice deceptively calm when her heart and stomach had twisted themselves into knots. The Bosmer thief looked up and finally she saw what Bryn truly thought. He thinks I won't come back. "The more my life is intertwined with this Dragonborn business the more I realize I may not survive to see it through. I have to realize that I am not a capable leader if I don't think ahead. I only ask this because the Guild, our family, needs someone to take over if I don't live to see the end. I'm not abandoning anyone, and I've no reason to run." Guilt and relief, they swam and mixed in confusing ways in those brilliant green eyes of his.

Brynjolf's eyes searched hers, reading them like he had taught her as a fledgling in the field, but with a ferocity that twisted daggers in her chest. "You promise? You're not leaving?"

"You are the only family I have, Brynjolf. I won't leave you." And this time she did kiss him. Caine took the steps to close the distance between their bodies as she sealed her promise onto his lips. The Nord clutched at her like a beggar took a coin; like it might be the last, like this could be the last time he held her. His arms snuck around her waist and shoulders, his kiss long and deep and hard enough for her to know that he didn't want to let go. She wouldn't make him, not when they both knew a truth that neither of them dared to admit. Caine wrapped her arms around his neck instead, fought the tightness in her chest and gave in to his kisses as they trailed from her mouth to her jaw and neck. Brynjolf found her mouth again, nearly at the same point as he lifted her from the ground, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist.

Caine complied, a heat building in her lower stomach, traveling down between her thighs. How long had it been since she slept with a man? Since Hadvar… she had been caught in the currents of what had become her life. Thinking about it now made her bones itch and her nerves burn for action. "Bryn," it was said against hard pressed lips, so muffled it hardly sounded like a word. She tried again, this time pulling away and evading his lips. "Put me down." Brynjolf did as he was told, brow furrowed in confusion and worry.

"Is something wrong?" Caine shook her head quickly.

"Follow me," the Bosmer wouldn't give him a choice. Caine tugged on a strap of his armor, pulling him along through Nightingale Hall, turning at an eroded corridor that opened up into a room.

The last time she had seen it the beds had been in disarray. Now the three of them were neatly filed against the walls, ready for use. She glanced at Bryn's knowing smile just as he encased her in his arms. "I'm glad we're on the same page, lass." His voice was a smooth baritone in her ear that made her shiver in delightful anticipation. "I'd hate to have to explain why I would peel your armor off."

Caine smiled and turned around in his arms. "You wouldn't get very far if I wasn't in agreement to your plans." She kissed him almost chastely, even as her fingers began their work at the buckles that held her armor in place. Bryn glanced between them and smiled, pulling her hands aside to finish her work.

The chill in the air and on her bare skin set goose bumps on her shoulders, but the shivers were from his lips as he trailed kisses from her neck to her collar bones. Caine let out a sound of frustration when he didn't go any lower, but as the last buckle came undone and her armor fell with a dull thud, Brynjolf pulled back to examine this newly uncovered territory.

His eyes danced from one place to the next, meeting hers once or twice, but always they were pulled in a new direction. Slowly a smile stretched his lips and this time when his eyes met hers they stayed. Heat and desire swirled around in thin green irises, but mischief danced with them. "So there is a woman under all of that armor. I was beginning to wonder…"

Caine rolled her eyes and pulled their mouths together, the need to feel his lips on hers greater than the desire to come up with a retort.

It took them mere moments to find a bed, and seemingly less time for Bryn to remove the rest of her armor. The Nord sat back on his heels when he was done, admiring his handiwork with an appreciative grin. His eyes followed a path she imagined his hands (or better yet, his mouth,) would take down her exposed body, setting the flames blazing anew, and she wouldn't wait for them to be quenched or smothered.

Instead Caine sat up and kissed him briefly, hands seeking and pulling on the buckles of his armor. Brynjolf sighed, sought her lips, guided her fingers in their quest until she felt the warmth of his skin touch her fingertips. She flattened her palm over his heart, reveling in the solid beat of it, how it sped at her touch. Caine ran her fingers through the dusting of hair on his chest, the course feel of it; the way it tickled at her wrist was a strange and exciting tingle down her spine. Hadvar had been bare of chest, smooth and yet scar less. He had been a boy playing at the role of a soldier; she would be surprised if he hadn't run from the war after the dragon hit Helgen.

But Brynjolf was a man, and had a man's body, or what she could see of it. He had considerably less scars than a warrior, though she wasn't surprised in the slightest. As thieves they kept to the shadows, avoided coming face to face with a blade as often as they could. They specialized in stealth, used it to take what they wanted. Rarely did a thief want a new scar if that meant giving up their stealth. Still she traced the silvery lines that were scattered across his torso, learning them, mapping them, imprinting them in her memory so that she might never forget them.

When she traced one that went beyond the hem of his pants, she heard Bryn's sharp intake of breath and brought her eyes to meet his. When their lips touched it was as if all the urgency had gone, the hunger, the heat was still there, but there was no demand, no insistent drive to push over the edge.

Slowly, Brynjolf guided her to lie back on the bed, his mouth never leaving hers, his hands gliding from her shoulders to her sides, thumbs brushing just against the undersides of her breasts, body following hers but never quite staying still. He trailed his kisses down the side of her jaw, stopping where it met her neck to scrape his teeth lightly along the bone there, earning him a gasp that made him smile. That made the slow, torturous attentions worth it.

Lower he went, drawing out every sound he could from the Bosmer, doing his best to ignore his building need to bury himself in her warmth. If things went as planned he would have all night for that. But now all he wanted to do was memorize every curve, every scar, every little quirk. He wanted her seared into his mind, so that when he closed his eyes her image was at the back of his lids.

When he reached her breasts he smirked, flicking his tongue over a nipple, reveling in the way she jerked and gasped in response. She was a feast of the senses, and he had barely touched the second course. Brynjolf repeated the attention more thoroughly this time, a hand coming up to cup her ignored breast while the other trailed down her body to hook her thigh and guide it to wrap around his hip. He smiled when her body arched into his touch, her hips pressing against his in the process.

Brynjolf tore himself away from her breast to leave a trail of kisses around it, latching on to the skin just below it to leave a rosy mark there before moving lower. He scattered kisses across her stomach, let his beard scratch at her skin lightly and delighted in the way it made her arch up and moan.

He was going to drive her crazy. His lips never left her, always moving, always skirting across her skin, and always traveling lower. When his breath ghosted over a hip bone Caine gasped and found her hips moving in search of that mouth on their accord. The Elf opened her eyes, unaware that she had even closed them; the ceiling was far above her as she tried to regain her breath and her bearings. Still her senses were in overdrive, hyper aware of the fingers that traced invisible circles on her inner thigh, the hand that cupped her hip, of the breath that fanned across her skin and the light tickle of the close trimmed beard that continued to light her nerves and leave her trembling. The moment Bryn brought his lips to suck on the flesh at her hip she felt her breath catch in her throat. Once again that mouth of his moved across this new expanse of her body, skirting from one spur of bone to the other, thoroughly tasting every part of her skin and effectively leaving her babbling.

All too soon Brynjolf found her mouth again, pecking her lips with light kisses and scrapes of his teeth. Caine made a frustrated sound and slapped his bare shoulder. "You're a terrible tease!" The Nord's only response was to chuckle.

"I do my best." The fingers that had been on her thigh suddenly moved, parting her folds just over her entrance and dragging upwards to find the spot that, until now, had only felt her touch. She couldn't help the surprised gasp that Brynjolf swallowed with his kiss. His fingers worked mercilessly, circling and teasing, sometimes with the lightest of touches, others with a delicious pressure that curled her toes and arched her spine and left her gasping for air.

His fingers were performing magic at her core and his mouth slowly traveled down her body once more, kissing and nipping in tandem with his fingers. He paused at her breasts, tongue dancing in slow a circle in perfect harmony with the fingers that danced at her pearl. Her hips bucked, her back arched, anything she could do to bring his mouth closer, and his hand in more complete contact, Caine did it. Moans and gasps came unbidden from her mouth, filling the air, nearly matching the heat that swirled within her. But still it wasn't enough. Her body ached for more, and gods damn her if she had to wait any longer to get it.

At some point her hands had come up to grip the back of Brynjolf's head, fingers had wound their way into his hair and effectively tethered him to her chest. Now they pulled on his hair to force him to meet her eyes.

He waited patiently as she regained her breath, though his fingers never stopped their lazy circling between her thighs, making it hard for her to think straight. Somehow, she managed. "I need you, Bryn. Now."

Something in his eyes darkened that left her heart fluttering with excitement, but a smile stretched his lips and Caine knew that he wasn't finished with her yet. "Patience, love."

Brynjolf took his free hand and disentangled her fingers from his hair, intertwining his fingers with her own as he skirted the expanse of her stomach.

The fingers slipped down and his tongue quickly replaced them, sparks lit behind her eyes, her head flew back and her mouth hung open as she gasped and his tongue wrung out every sound under the sun from her lungs. A finger toyed with her entrance; it circled and probed lightly to the same tune his tongue danced.

And then suddenly it was inside her, moving within her and taking her quickly to the edge of the precipice. When a second one joined it they brought her to new heights and caught her as she came crashing down around them.

Caine's body fell limp to the mattress, but still Brynjolf kept his onslaught, slower and gentler as they drew out the last of her release. His tongue slowed and stopped, and when he withdrew his beard glistened almost comically with her arousal. Their eyes met, and as if he knew, Bryn smiled and wiped the excess with her shift.

Caine sat up, heart still beating erratically, limbs a little shaky as she reached for his chin. She would be lying if she'd have said she didn't feel a little wanton, kissing him while his head was still between her thighs. But as Brynjolf rose to his elbows to meet her halfway and she tasted herself on his lips it sent bolts of arousal coursing through her veins and she wouldn't trade it for the world.

Slowly, Brynjolf rose to sit up on the mattress, arms wrapping around her torso to bring her with him, their chests pressed against the other when all was said and done. She could feel him, hard and hot through the cloth of his breeches as she sat in his lap and the responding heat between her thighs had her grinding against his length with an appreciative hum. Brynjolf’s hands roamed down her back, resting at her hips to pull her even closer, to press their hips harder together and pull a moan that was as shared as the air they breathed. “Caine,” her name spilled from his lips, an unspoken question in the surface of his hooded eyes. She responded with a kiss and a hand slipping between their bodies, sliding down his thighs to free him from constraints of cloth and flesh, if only for a moment.

Brynjolf sighed into her mouth as he pulled her up into his lap once more, not bothering to remove his pants any further than they already were. It was enough for them. He kissed her as he slid into her, swallowing her gasp with teeth and tongue, arms enveloping her as her fingers dug into his shoulders, carded through his hair and held him there. Her thighs gripped his hips as she sank down onto him, the feeling of him filling and stretching her almost too overwhelming for her to bear. It was him, every bit of him, from the strength in the muscles of his arms to the strong, erratic beat of his heart in his chest. From the way their tongues would dance, to the soft pecks to her lips as a gesture of soothing comfort as she adjusted. It was the understanding that somehow only her thief knew, had known all along.

Caine rested her forehead on his shoulder as her body accommodated him, Brynjolf’s kisses traveling along the curve of her jaw and neck, his breath coming out in harsh little pants that tickled across her skin and rose goose bumps on her flesh. The fingers of his hand walked across the bumps of her spine, making her arch her back from the feather-light touch that pulled a smile from his lips and a chuckle that reverberated through their bodies. She wanted to slap him. She wanted to kiss him. She didn’t know which one she wanted more.

She settled with an experimental grind of her hips against his that had him sobering slightly, his own hips moving to follow her. The friction was delicious, what they both craved. Their eyes met, all joking and games set aside. “Good?” His voice was strained, huskier than she had ever heard it before.

“Yeah.”

And then they were moving, his hands coming to rest at her hips once more to guide them into each thrust he made, each striving for an end they both knew was in sight. Caine wrapped her arms around his neck, breathing her moans into the slickness of his skin, breathing in his scent with each inhale as they found their rhythm together.

Brynjolf braced an arm against her back, shoving his pants down past his hips and shimmying out of this as he leaned forward so that he could set her on the mattress, lips brushing as he blanketed her with his body. Her legs wrapped around his waist and finally, they found an angle that worked. The Nord’s head fell forward into the crook of her neck, their rhythm faltering, their kisses a little harder, their moans a little louder, neither caring who heard or saw so long as they could tumble over the edge of oblivion and be there to catch each other when they did. And she was so close, with each roll of hips she could feel the build ,the tension and the heat just waiting to be released, and by the way Brynjolf’s hips snapped into hers, he wasn’t far behind.

He breathed her name in her ear, as much a plea as it was an allowance, and it was all she need to send her off that edge, Bryn following behind in mere moments.

They lay there in silence, the sound of their breathing lulling them from their high. Brynjolf gathered her in his arms, pulling her against him when he rolled to the side, staring up at the ceiling far above them. He was fighting sleep, she could see it in the heaviness of his lids. Caine tilted her head from where she had it propped against his chest, words on the tip of her tongue, begging to be voiced. But then Brynjolf was meeting her gaze, his smile soft and warm, his kiss just as sweet, and he was pulling a blanket over them and bringing her closer to his warmth, and the words died in her throat as the sound of his heartbeat lulled her to sleep.


End file.
